


Farewell, Little Tyrant

by The Doom of Choronzon (Nightlore)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Westworld (TV)
Genre: A Song of Shit and Grits, Gen, Parody, Serious But Not Serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightlore/pseuds/The%20Doom%20of%20Choronzon
Summary: A damaging hack sends a costly update into the systems of Westeroworld and the park must now retire a dear host...





	Farewell, Little Tyrant

**Author's Note:**

> Initially a short prank to tease a fellow author who loves GOT and hoped that I would write a serious smut fic containing her favorite character, Ramsay Bolton, and somehow got the courage to post it here for all to ignore! Pokes fun at both Westworld and GOT since they're both HBO heavyweights of premium cable and contains a few inside jokes between myself and the other author. Enjoy!

Blood streaked across Ramsay's face; broad crimson arcs that highlighted his cold eyes as they gazed off into nothingness. Yet even the blood could not complete the picture of madness as well as the twitching sneer that shaped his lips. He made no other movements as he sat upright and rigid upon a stool. The flayer of many worn no clothing; his pale skin nearly as white as a corpse against the harsh backdrop of his environment. Even of this notion he seemed completely unaware. Only madness and fury were there hovering like a hawk eager to swoop in on helpless prey.

Suddenly a voice filled the silence, it was like a little bell going off inside his mind. A voice that was loving like a father that was so unlike the one that sired him, yet all-knowing like a god. The face of the gentle god appeared before him through a haze, as if he were suspended in a dream.

Dr. Ford casually leaned in to gaze at one of the many monsters of Westeroworld at least one who wasn't a dragon or a White Walker, as if he were a more like a friendly dog than a madman.

His own blue eyes met with Ramsay's, "What is your name?"

Ramsay's sneer turned to a wicked smile, "Ramsay Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort!"

Dr. Ford nodded, "What drives you, Ramsay?"

The young Bolton didn't even blink, "To reclaim my Lady Sansa and my Reek! And..." He paused. His expression was one of bewilderment, as if he lost more than his prized company. Without warning he began to spasm, through his fits he shouted, "And sit upon the Channing Tatum!!"

Theresa did not uncross her arms as she watched the scene, "What did he say?"

Bernard Lowe turned to her from his chair beside Ford, "He's referring to the Iron Throne. Ever since we had that hack in the system with the malicious update they all say Channing Tatum in place of the Iron Throne."

Ford shrugged, "Well haven't you watched Magic Mike? I'm a straight old white man and I'd still like to take a spin on that! I can't blame him."

Theresa cut him off, "Enough about that. Why is he constantly fucking Theon and now trying to shove swords up male visitors’ asses?"

Bernard continued on, "Again it's the update. Although I think the fucking happened quite a bit before that."

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. Disassemble him. Mr. Sizemore, do you have a crappy storyline to write him out of the narrative?"

Lee fidgeted a moment, his British accent more snide than usual, "Yeah everyone just wants that grease ball Jon Snow back so I'm going to make up some random shit with a battle that makes no sense but no one will care because Kit Harrington. It's not like the fat old hipster we took this from completed good ideas anyway."

The Danish woman turned her gaze back to Ford, “Are we in agreement?”

He didn’t even bother to look at her, calm and collected as ever, he responded, “I suppose it must be done.”

Lowe’s quick hands began tapping away at the user interface on his device, “Powering down now...”

Within a few keystrokes Ramsay Bolton’s entire identity was wiped, save for his basic motion functions so that he could be guided down to the lower levels to be destroyed immediately. No longer would the young Bolton terrorize Westeroworld.

Robert Ford cocked his head for a moment as two guards and a tech came in to retrieve Ramsay, “It’s all for the best. I’d like to propose something new anyway...”

They all turned to him as the Lord of the Dreadfort was led away.

“I think it’s time to introduce Theon and Yara’s uncle… Euron Greyjoy… A true insatiable madman...”

A look of confusion overtook them all, Bernard was the first to ask as he cleaned his glasses, “Wasn’t that what we just sent away essentially?”

Ford shoved his hands in his pockets, “Yes but this one has a boat and is a pirate so it’s completely different.”

The group nodded, their faces still unsure, but agreeing just the same. The old man smiled at them as he began to grab his jacket, “Well I’m off to tinker around with some unmarked hosts in a private cabin that you all don’t know about.”

Theresa lit up a cigarette, “I’ll be sneaking around the park sending sensitive company data through a satellite relay because I don’t get paid enough to put up with this shit.”

Lowe pondered her statement a moment, but then agreed, “You’re right. I would be angry too but I’m just another host so what do I care? I have to go tinker around with some other hosts and make their lives hell and have to contend with that later.”

Soon the room was empty save for Lee Sizemore as he sat in a rolling chair. His face was full of sadness, “I guess I’ll just keep being a crotchety chap with nothing to do but yell at my subordinates and make up storylines that never get approved...”

His head shot up, “Screw it I’m going to fuck the inactive hosts with a labtech!”

And with that he left the room.


End file.
